


Valentine's Day is for Lovers

by middyblue (daisyblaine)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV David Rose, Post-Canon, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyblaine/pseuds/middyblue
Summary: Inexplicably, no one around town seems to get that Valentine's Day isn't a free-for-all, even if Patrick is out of town. Or, 5 valentines that David doesn't want and 1 that he does.
Relationships: David Rose & Johnny Rose, David Rose & Roland Schitt, David Rose & Twyla Sands, Jake & David Rose (Schitt's Creek), Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Ray Butani & David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 66
Kudos: 215





	Valentine's Day is for Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me a few days ago and somehow I thought I could write a full fic in the span of like two days. Very loosely inspired by the [Valentine's Song SNL digital short](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=drVD7ed65rY). Many thanks to everyone who cheered me on! I love you very much.

### 1\. Twyla Sands and Bob Currie

It might just be that he slept about three hours last night or maybe it just is objectively horrible, but stepping into the cafe on the morning of Valentine’s Day is truly an eye-searing experience. 

There are red, pink, and purple cartoon hearts plastered all over the walls, hanging from the ceiling on wires, and in a garland hung around the menu; Twyla herself is wearing a headband with bobbing pink fluffy hearts on it. 

“My god,” he says in shock, stopped in his tracks. Ronnie glances up from where she’s nursing a coffee in a booth and gives him a grumpy look. 

“Where’s your lesser half?” 

“ _Patrick_ is at a conference until tomorrow,” he says, forcing a smile. 

“On Valentine’s Day?” 

“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, Ronnie.” 

“Oh, I’m not,” she says. “Just thought he’d be all over this crap your first year married.” 

“It’s an important conference and he’ll be home tomorrow,” David says stiffly. Ronnie shrugs and goes back to her coffee. 

It’s not like Patrick had forgotten. It’s just that the big week-long Small Business Owners of Canada conference is held in Vancouver every February, and this year it happens to end the morning of February 15th. They’d discussed it before Patrick bought his ticket and at the time it had seemed like the smart thing to do, to just push their card- and candy-giving back a day in order to take advantage of this opportunity to network, but now that Valentine's Day is here he’s regretting it a bit. 

But Patrick will be back tomorrow and they’ll celebrate the day together then, preferably with expensive gifts and chocolate and lots and lots of sex. He just has to get through today. 

He gives Ronnie a smile and unlocks his phone to look again at Patrick’s last text message. He must have gotten up ridiculously early Vancouver-time to make sure that David woke up to it. 

Patrick  
  
**Today** 7:52 AM Patrick:I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU   
David:Love you so much   


“David?” Twyla asks. She’s wearing what he recognizes as one of Alexis’s dresses, a short red floral Revolve number. 

“Mm. Yes. Macchiato, please. And a Danish. And a cinnamon roll.” 

“Sure thing,” she says with a sad smile. David flicks his eyes away and then jumps when he sees Bob looming just over his shoulder. 

“Sorry, David,” Bob says sadly. He’s wearing a frankly concerning red plastic pork pie hat with the image of a cupid on the side. 

“For what? Nearly giving me a heart attack?” 

“It’s hard when they’re gone.” 

“He’s not _dead_. He’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“It’s hard,” Bob says sympathetically, like he didn’t even hear him. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Do you want a rose?” 

“What?” 

Bob holds out a single long-stemmed rose wrapped in plastic. 

“What is that?” 

“My dentist gave it to me at my appointment this morning, but I think you need it more than I do.” 

“Oh my god. Patrick’s coming back _tomorrow_.” 

Bob just holds the rose closer to David’s face until he has to either take it from him or get petals up his nose. 

“Thanks.” 

Bob nods seriously. 

“Here you go,” Twyla says, handing over a coffee cup and a pastry bag, which is covered in hearts. He doesn’t remember her going all-out for Valentine’s Day in the past, but maybe he just never really paid attention. 

He never really cared in general out of self-preservation before Patrick came into his life, and then Patrick always made sure to make the day special in ways that were both embarrassing and endearing, like the year he tried _hard_ to convince David that he was going to buy him a life-size teddy bear from Ikea. Instead he actually gave David a genuine Japanese silk kimono and a giant less-authentic-but-still-good tiramisu to share from the Italian bakery in Elmdale. That had been a good year. 

“Thanks, Twyla. How much?” 

“Oh, it’s on the house.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I just feel so bad that you’re alone today.” 

“Mkay.” 

He turns to go, not really wanting to say no to a free breakfast, until Twyla calls him back. 

“Here!” she says happily, holding out a little white envelope. 

“What’s this?” 

“Just a little something special from a special someone,” she says with an ostentatious wink. 

He and Patrick had promised to move the entire holiday to tomorrow so Patrick _shouldn’t_ have gotten him anything today, but despite that his heart rate picks up and he takes the envelope from her, smiles at her excitedly, and tears it open. 

_Happy Valentine’s Day to My Significant Otter_ , it says on the front over a picture of two otters holding hands, which is a little cheesier than David was hoping for but honestly just the fact that Patrick — _Love from Twyla!_ is written inside in lovely looping handwriting. 

He flips it over to see if maybe he missed something on the back, but that’s it. He looks up at Twyla and she beams at him. 

“What’s this?” 

“Your valentine!” 

“From… you?” 

“Yeah, of course! Everyone gets one!” 

His mouth drops open and he’s literally speechless. The last time he got a Valentine’s Day card from someone not-Patrick was in grade school, but he’s pretty sure that the holiday is meant for, like, _love_ love. _Significant otter_. What the hell. 

Somehow he makes the words _Thank you_ audibly come out of his mouth and he leaves the cafe with an aborted goodbye. 

Patrick  
  
**Today** 9:16 AM David:Twyla just gave me a Valentine  
Patrick:Do I have competition?  
David:[](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/63/da/a4/63daa436a7d6fa8b68d8e62d966d442b.png)  
Patrick:Oh that's nice of her  
David:?!?!?!?!?  
Patrick:What?  


“Wow,” David says out loud. 

He unlocks the doors and puts his breakfast on the counter to get the store ready for the day and, well, if he picks Taylor Swift’s moodier albums to listen to while he does the opening tasks, no one has to know. 

### 2\. Roland Schitt and Roland Schitt, Jr.

The morning is one of those with stops and starts; he’s alone with _folklore_ and his own thoughts for almost an entire hour while Patrick’s in a seminar. 

Patrick flatly refuses to sext while he’s trying to pay attention to things like marginal tax rates and federal subsidies and SEO and whatever else he’s learning, which is fair even if it does leave David at a bit of a loose end. 

David did send him an outfit picture before he left the house, because sometimes that’s enough to get something happening while Patrick’s on a break, but his phone remains depressingly silent. 

It gets so bad that he’s almost glad when Roland pushes through the door with his kid toddling next to him. The baby’s wearing little yellow baby galoshes even though it’s not raining, but David’s learned that commenting on Little Rollie's style choices leads nowhere good. 

“What can I do for you, Roland?” 

“Well, we want more foot cream and some of the massage oil that Joce likes.” 

“Sure.” 

“Make that two oils. No, three. Five, final answer. And applesauce, right, kiddo?” Roland asks the kid, who nods enthusiastically. 

“Coming right up,” David says with false cheeriness. 

“So, Dave,” Roland says as David goes around collecting his items for him. 

“Yes, Roland.” 

“What are you and Patrick going to do if he’s all the way in Singapore for a month?” 

“In — what? What are you talking about?” 

“Gwen said he was all the way on the other side of the world.” 

“How did Gwen — no, you know what? I don’t want to know. No, Patrick’s just in Vancouver for the week, and he gets back tomorrow.” 

“Geez, tough luck.” 

“Mm, well, it’s a good opportunity for the store and we’re going to celebrate the holiday tomorrow. And anyway, it’s a made-up holiday designed to sell flowers and cards and chocolates and candy and our marriage is bigger than all of that cavity-inducing commercialism. It’s fine.” 

“Yeah, still. I don’t think Joce and I missed even one the first ten years we were married. Of course, there was the year I was in the hospital with all those burrs in my a-s-s, but still she showed up and sweet-talked the nurse into letting her in the room while they were really digging in there with the tweezers.” 

“Thanks so much for that mental image.” 

“Yeah, you know, I wouldn’t read anything into it, though.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

Little Rollie tugs on Roland’s hand and holds up a card that’s been bent in many places. 

“Oh, right! You want to give that to Unckie Davie?” 

“Oh, we are not doing that,” David says quickly. 

Roland, the grown adult man, sticks out his lower lip in a pout. His son stares up at David with either sad or uncomprehending eyes; it’s difficult to tell. 

“Oh my god,” David mutters under his breath. 

“Rollie has a card for you. Hand it to David, now; go on.” 

Little Rollie holds up the crumpled card and David takes it from him with two fingers and his best attempt at a fond smile. 

It’s sticky with what looks like strawberry jam in spots. The [front](https://i.etsystatic.com/23291534/r/il/091bba/2798142870/il_794xN.2798142870_85j8.jpg) has a cartoon train and says I CHOO-CHOO-CHOOSE YOU and inside there’s a wobbly heart drawn on and it says TO MR DAViD LOVe ROLLie in awkward crayon writing with _Happy Valentine’s Day!_ written neatly underneath it in what he recognizes as Jocelyn’s writing. 

“Wow,” he manages. 

“It’s really something, huh?” 

“It sure is. Did — did he pick out the card?” 

“Oh, yeah. Rollie loves trains. Don’t you, bud?” 

The kid nods. 

“Mm. Yeah, this is — this is great. Thank you, Rollie.” 

“What do we say?” 

“You’re welcome,” the kid mumbles. 

“Thank you. This is really sweet. And weird,” he adds under his breath. 

“Glad you like it. So we’ll just take this, then,” Roland says, taking the tote and steering Rollie Jr. out of the store by the hood of his coat. 

“You still have to pay for it!” David shouts fruitlessly after them. “What the hell!” 

He looks down at the card in his hands and yeah, fine, it’s sweet, but really? Is this really necessary? Do children really give cards like this to people? Surely not, but it is clearly something marketed to children, given the cartoon train with a pie-eyed face on it. 

“So weird,” he says again. 

He sticks it under the register anyway. Patrick might like to see it. 

Patrick  
  
**Today** 1:54 PM David:So far I’ve gotten valentines from: Twyla, Bob, Roland Jr.   
Patrick:Aw that’s nice  
David:K but WHY  
Patrick:Because they care about you?  
David:Patrick what is Valentine’s Day about  
Patrick:Love?  
David:EXACTLY  
David:I know we agreed to wait until tomorrow and it’s fine but my most meaningful valentine cannot come from the child of Roland Schitt  
Patrick:Aw you thought it was meaningful?  
David:MISSING THE POINT  
Patrick:Which is?  
David:I miss you and this day is stupid  
Patrick:I miss you too   
Patrick:And you never know! The day might turn around   
David:Did you send me something???  
Patrick:Sorry babe gotta go my next seminar’s about to start   
David:I hate you  
David:Also Roland stole another $120 worth of product  


### 3\. Ray Butani

The day drags and he can’t even take a real lunch break because he’s got Patrick in his head with his stupid Brewer work ethic and, honestly, he has no interest in eating alone at the heart-drenched cafe and having everyone stare at him with pitying looks all around. It’s fully valid that he and Patrick are celebrating tomorrow, and there is no reason for other people to be giving him valentines. 

But it’s proving difficult to _convince_ people of that, so he takes his sandwich back to the store and eats it forlornly at the cash register instead. It’s fine. 

He looks at Patrick’s little emoji hearts and misses him so much it’s an ache in his chest. 

He hopes that he’s having a good time, or at least learning a lot and meeting interesting people. Without even thinking about it, he taps over to his airline app and pulls up Patrick’s flight number. It’s finally close enough to his departure time that Patrick should be able to check in and they have the flight listed under arrivals, so he pulls the list down and watches it reload as if the information will have changed. 

By this time tomorrow, Patrick will be in the air. One more day and he can have his husband in his arms and in his bed again, and not even to have sex, although that too. He hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a _week_ and it’s seriously messing with his skin and his mood. 

It’s not as bad as when they first moved to Schitt’s Creek and he felt so alone and anxious that he kept having panic attacks, but he feels off-center in a similar way, like there’s something _wrong_ with the world and he doesn’t quite fit in it now that it’s changed so dramatically. 

He refreshes the airline app over and over, leaning on the counter with his chin in his hand, and doesn’t even move when the door dings open. 

Music suddenly starts playing over the next _evermore_ song and he looks up, confused, to see some guy dressed in a gaudy sparkling white Elvis costume. 

“Wise men say,” the guy sings in a deep baritone, “only fools rush in….” 

David feels his face go white. What the fuck is this person doing, and also the windows are _glass_. People can _see this_. 

“But I can’t help falling in love with you,” Elvis sings, pointing directly at David. 

“Oh my god,” he says. _Patrick did this_ , he thinks wildly, and fury turns to sentimentality because it’s awful and tacky and horrifying but also weirdly sweet? 

“Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.” 

“My god, Patrick.” He fumbles out his phone and hits record. “Okay, hon, this is a little much but I’m in a vulnerable state and appreciate the gesture,” he says over the song. 

“Take my hand,” Elvis croons, and actually takes one of David’s hands to kiss the back. “Take my whole life too, for I can’t help falling in love with you!” 

David stops the recording and claps, shaking his head, literally getting emotional over this stupid Elvis impersonator. He’s going to kill Patrick. 

Someone else is clapping and enters the store behind Elvis and it’s fucking Ray interrupting this somewhat bizarre moment. 

“Well done!” Ray says, beaming over his clipboard. “Excellent work, Joey.” 

“Excuse me? I don’t think you’re supposed to break the illusion by using his real name.” 

“David, thank you for agreeing to be my guinea pig for my newest pop-up business, Ray’s Tele-Singers.” 

“You mean singing telegrams?” David says faintly. “Also, what?” 

“You agreed last week! It was formerly known as Ray’s Town Cryer but that name did not test well in the focus groups.” 

“I did agree,” David says, remembering. At the time he and Patrick were in the middle of lunch and Patrick had agreed first so of course David had gone along with being one of Ray’s test subjects, figuring it would be something weird and funny that they could share. He hadn’t actually thought it would be _this_. 

“So about the follow-up survey,” Ray begins, putting pen to clipboard. 

“Oh my god.” 

“When Joey first entered your store, were you: A) Excited, B) Confused, C) Aroused, or D) All of the above?” 

“Um. B.” 

“Ah. And why’s that?” 

“Because I wasn’t expecting an Elvis in the middle of my store on a Sunday afternoon?” 

“Got it,” Ray says, clearly writing down David’s answer word for word. “Sunday… afternoon. Question two: song choice. Did the song make you —” 

“Gonna stop you right there, Ray,” David interrupts, pinching his fingers in the air. “B. For all of the answers.” 

“Hm.” Ray looks down his list and tilts his head a few times. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” David says firmly. “It was a confusing experience all around.” 

“Well, that’s a disappointment. I’d hoped to get at least a few paying customers by the Valentine’s dinner rush at the cafe, but if we have to go back to the drawing board, I’m afraid it might not work out this year.” 

“It might help if you were clearer with the recipient from the start about what’s going on,” David says. Whatever; he’s invested now. “Like, if Joey can announce before he starts singing that he’s here delivering a singing telegram —” 

“Tele-Song.” 

“A Tele-Song from so-and-so, the recipient might then be able to enjoy the song instead of trying to figure out what the fuck is happening.” 

“Excellent. See, this is why I approached you and Patrick in the first place!” 

“Glad I could help.” 

“Sorry your husband’s gone,” Joey says out of fucking nowhere. 

“Excuse me?” 

“We’re all very sorry,” Ray adds, making a sad face. “Such a shame.” 

“Okay, he is at a _conference_ in _Vancouver_ and will be back _tomorrow_. There is no shame here.” 

“Mm,” Ray says, clearly not believing him. “Well, maybe this will help.” He hands over a card and a box of chocolates with his and Jocelyn’s faces stamped on them in bas relief, for no reason that David can tell. 

“I love you a… hole punch,” David reads from the [card](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/04/c9/0d/04c90dc873072d17dad351bf789c850c.jpg), which also has holes punched in it in the shape of a heart. “That’s, um, nice.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, David.” Ray scrunches a smile at him. 

“The card is unnecessary, Ray,” he says. “But… I will keep the chocolates.” 

“Excellent. Joey? Let’s discuss David’s notes on the way to Gwen’s….” 

David watches Ray and Joey walk off, Ray lecturing without drawing a breath, until they turn the corner and disappear from view. 

### 4\. Jake (No Last Name)

Finally the workday is over and David can flip the sign to CLOSED. 

He can almost go home; he just has to make a stop at Jake’s woodshop first to pick up the stupidly-big gift he’d ordered for Patrick weeks ago after they’d spent an hour sitting on the back steps with some wine watching the sun set. Patrick had said something about how nice it was and they’d both gotten a little teary thinking about how they can have this every day, if they want. 

So David had asked Jake to make them a bench to sit on. 

It’s not too expensive to fit into his budget, but he is going to have to ask Jake to deliver it because it’s possible that he didn’t quite think this part through. 

He knocks on the frame of the open door to the woodshop, breathing in the scent of sawdust. 

“Jake?” 

“Who’s that?” 

“It’s David. David Rose? I’m picking up my bench?” 

“Oh, right,” Jake says, appearing from behind what looks like a seven-foot wooden windmill. He wipes his hands on a cloth that he then sticks into his back pocket and he’s shirtless underneath his apron thing. Honestly, the whole aesthetic is ticking several boxes for David right now. He wonders if Patrick would be interested in reenacting some of this. “How are you, David?” 

“Um. Good, yeah.” 

“Good.” Jake looks him up and down and seems to smile a little. 

“What?” 

“You look good. Those pants really show off your calves.” 

“Um. Thank you.” 

“So your bench is right over here,” Jake says. He weaves through the random chairs and desks and bookshelves to the back of the shop, where the bench exactly as David pictured it is sitting. The wood is stained dark and the slats in the back are three inches wide and an inch apart, just like David wanted them to be. 

“Oh, wow.” 

“Want to test it?” 

Feeling a little awkward, David sits down on the bench as Jake watches. It’s a wooden bench so it’s not, like, _comfortable_ , but the armrest is the perfect height and width and the back doesn’t dig into his spine. He could sit here for a while. 

“It’s perfect.” 

Jake nods like he’d expected nothing else. God, the ego on this man. 

“So, um. Do you think you could deliver it now?” 

“Yeah, no problem. You’re my last pickup of the day, though. Want a quick drink before we go?” 

“Um, no. No, thank you.” 

“You sure? I’ve got a special cocktail for the day. Not really sure what’s in it,” Jake says, going to his desk in the corner. He opens the little minifridge, pulls out a glass pitcher of something pink, and holds it up for David to see, lifting his eyebrows. “Twyla mixed it.” 

“I’m good.” 

“Alright.” Jake shrugs, _suit yourself_ , and puts it back. “Well, here’s your invoice and a copy of your receipt.” He folds it into a card and hands it over. 

“What — what’s this?” 

“Your invoice.” 

“No, this.” David holds up the [card](https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Eb3OZyY6-mc/XGMs6x8hjYI/AAAAAAAAKwo/VFpljQfA6lc0J3d5vi3rGga4RL200xylwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0378.JPG). It has a cute little woodland animal and says WOOD YOU BE MY VALENTINE? “What is this?” 

“Oh, sorry if that’s weird,” Jake says, wrinkling his forehead. “I just bought a stack of them to hand out today. Ray said it was good marketing.” 

“Um. Okay.” David shakes his head. “Thank you. I appreciate the gesture, but can we just get this to my house? Where I live with my husband?” 

Jake lifts his hands. “It’s cool. I hear you. Your car or mine?” 

“I don’t think this will fit in Patrick’s sedan.” 

“No problem. I’ve got the truck today. Help me lift it?” 

David looks down at his outfit. His pants are _white_. “Are you — are you kidding?” 

“Yeah, it’s a two-person lift. I can get my assistant to help me deliver it, but he’s not in until Tuesday. Up to you.” 

“You have an assistant? No, you know what, never mind. Let’s do this now.” 

Jake takes off his apron and pulls on a stretchy t-shirt with a loose collar that honestly dips down almost to nipple level. David really, truly wishes Patrick were here to appreciate this. 

To his surprise, the bench isn’t actually as heavy as it looks, and they manage to carry it out to Jake’s truck without dropping it once. Jake talks him through heaving it up into the flat part in the back and then David watches him tie it down with stretchy cords. 

“Oh, before I forget,” Jake says, digging into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m also giving these out. Here.” 

David holds out his hands, confused, and Jake drops a handful of condoms into his palms. The wrappers are, of course, covered in hearts. 

“Let me guess, Ray?” 

“Nah, just bought these by accident and I try not to hand them out to people I’m with unless I mean the hearts. Don’t want mixed messages, you know? But you guys are married, so I figure you’ll appreciate them together.” 

“I — sure. Thank you, Jake.” 

“No problem.” 

Jake follows him to the house and they manage to get the thing out onto the back porch. He’s even graciously patient while David has him reposition it about a dozen times before he declares it perfect. 

And then David’s alone again, a stack of unwanted valentines on the front table, a handful of condoms in his pocket. 

### 5\. Johnny Rose

Theoretically he could order the takeout that Patrick doesn’t like since it’s his last night before Patrick’s back, the last time he can have what he wants for dinner and leave out the vegetables, but he’s just too tired to deal with the food delivery guy bringing him, like, a YOU PICK ME UP valentine or a bouquet of roses or something. 

He ends up making pasta and eating it in front of the television. Patrick had said something about a closing ceremonies dinner or something so he’s not answering his texts, but Stevie is just as bored at her motel somewhere in the boonies of Quebec, so they watch A Walk to Remember on Patrick’s Netflix account and make each other swear to secrecy about how hard they’re crying by the end. 

Stevie refuses to watch another movie with him after that, which is fair. He puts on the Sex and the City movie for background noise and starts sending Patrick _miss you_ and then increasingly horny texts for when Patrick’s done with his dinner and back in his room. 

Patrick  
  
**Today** 7:54 PM David:Miss you  
David:Here’s a v day gift idea for next year: a huge walk-in closet with the shoes of my dreams in it  
David:I would give you literally anything  
David:Lit er al ly  
David:Like… whatever you want  
David:God I MISS YOU  
David:My hand’s not as good as yours  
David:I miss your mouth  
David:I miss your cock  
David:Do you miss mine  
David:What have you been thinking of when you get off?  
David:I’ve been thinking of you obv and your cock just the way it smells like you when i’m swallowing you down and the weight of your cock is heavy on my tongue and I can feel the vein and I swallow andl ook up at you fuck patrick pls  


The doorbell rings and David freezes with his hand down his pants. 

Oh god, what now? Can he just ignore it? 

It rings again and he groans as he gets up off the couch. 

“I’m coming!” he shouts, detouring to the kitchen to wash his hands. “Just a minute!” 

He unlocks the door and pulls it open to see a huge bouquet of red flowers standing there. 

“Um.” 

“David Rose?” the flowers ask. 

“Yeah I’m — that’s me. I’m David Rose.” 

“Great. Can you take these?” 

He hesitates and reaches awkwardly into the bundle, his hands brushing the stranger’s as he takes it from them. 

“Um. Thanks.” 

“Yeah, have a good night. Happy Valentine’s Day,” the delivery guy says. He flicks a wave and heads back to his car idling in the driveway. 

David closes and locks the door and stares at the frankly enormous flower arrangement at his feet, hope rising up like champagne bubbles. There’s a little white envelope and he plucks it from the roses and daisies and geraniums. 

It’s printed, not handwritten, but that’s fine, he thinks, his hands shaking a little. TO DAVID, it says. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY FROM YOUR FATHER. 

“Jesus _fucking_ christ,” he swears. He pulls out his phone and dials, pacing in the hallway. 

“Hello?” 

“Dad, what the fuck?” 

“David! Did you get the flowers?” 

“ _Yes,_ I got the flowers. Why did you send me flowers?!” 

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day!” 

“Oh my god, Dad.” 

“What, I’m not allowed to tell my only son that I love him?” 

“Well, sure, but not today!” 

“You’re going to have to explain that to me.” 

“Today is _Valentine’s Day_. The day for love. Like, _love_ love. You can tell me you love me any other day of the year but today is for me and Patrick. I don’t need flowers from my dad in the middle of… _things_.” 

“That’s right, Patrick’s out of town today, isn’t he?” 

“He is. So you can imagine my frustration when I get an embarrassing amount of flowers delivered to me after an entire fucking day of random people giving me valentines and none of them are _from my husband_.” 

“Oh, David, that sounds like something you should talk to Patrick about.” 

“We’re celebrating tomorrow!” he says shrilly. “That’s not the point! The point is, no one over the age of twelve wants a valentine from someone they’re not romantically involved with.” 

“Hm. Well, I did send one to Alexis too, and she hasn’t said anything. Oh, wait, her name just popped up. How do I answer that call?” 

“Press the button that says Hold and Accept and then press the one that says Merge Calls.” 

“Moira, how do I do this?” his dad says, his voice faint like he’s pulled the phone away from his face. David hugs his arm around himself and drops his head back, listening to his parents try to figure out modern technology. 

Finally the line goes quiet and then he hears Alexis say, “Dad?” 

“Alexis? David?” 

“Dad, what the hell!” 

“RIGHT.” 

“David?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.” 

“Dad,” Alexis says, sounding just as annoyed as David feels, “why did you send me flowers today?” 

“I wanted to send my children flowers!” 

“This is so weird and, like, inappropriate.” 

“Alright, note taken,” their dad says, irritated. “Next year I’ll send you kids nothing.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Oh, should I merge in Stevie?” 

“Stevie’s calling?” David asks, feeling like they’re right back in their old motel rooms with all the chaos. 

“No, but it was a buy-two-get-one-free deal so I had one sent to her at the Quebec motel.” 

“Oh my god,” David says. 

“No, Dad,” Alexis says firmly. “Now I have to go explain to my boyfriend why someone else sent me like two hundred dollars’ worth of flowers on Valentine’s Day.” 

The line beeps as she hangs up and David feels kind of bad. They _are_ nice flowers. 

“Okay, Dad?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Thank you, David.” 

“But please never do this again.” 

“Understood. I should probably give Stevie a call to explain, huh?” 

“That might be a good idea.” 

“Right. Bye, David.” 

“Bye, Dad.” 

He has to split up the arrangement to even attempt to fit the flowers into a water-holding vessel, but trimming the stems and arranging them into two separate vases takes long enough that it’s reasonably close to a normal bedtime by the time he’s done. 

### +1. Patrick Brewer

Despite not getting enough sleep all week, he tosses and turns for a while until he finally gives up and just grabs Patrick’s latest book from his night table and starts reading it, stretching his legs out to take advantage of having the whole bed for the last time. 

The book is about the oil industry, of all things, so while the narration is surprisingly gripping he does start to doze off. 

At one point he rests his eyes for a minute and falls into a dream of Patrick as a cowboy wearing Jake’s low-cut shirt and bringing David a flower arrangement approximately the size and shape of a horse. 

_This is so unnecessary,_ Dream-David flirts, incredibly flattered. Dream-Patrick cocks his hat and squints at him like a cowboy in a movie and says, _You’re worth it, David._

_Can I ride it?_ Dream-David asks, trailing his hand across the flower-horse’s back as it turns into a real horse under his palm. 

_Hey, David?_

_Can I?_

_David?_

“Hm?” 

“Hey, baby,” Patrick murmurs, running a hand up David’s shoulder. 

“Mm, Patrick?” 

“There you are,” Patrick says fondly, smiling, as David pries his eyes open. 

The bedside light’s still on and the book is still face-down on his chest; he can feel a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth. Ugh. 

“What’re you doing here?” he mumbles, sitting up. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes don’t seem to want to stay open. 

Patrick takes the book from him and places it back on his nightstand, on top of the stack of valentines that David brought up here for no reason, then turns back to David. He’s sitting on the bed at David’s hip and David’s not entirely sure that he’s not still dreaming. 

“I missed you,” Patrick says, the corners of his mouth pulling in. David’s chest hitches and he leans forward to kiss him for the first time in a week. It’s definitely real because Patrick has airplane-chapped lips, but David nearly cries anyway. 

“I missed you so much.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he says, placing his hand on Patrick’s chest, feeling his beating heart. “It was awful.” 

“I’m sorry you had such a bad time.” 

“How are you here?” 

“I just missed you and I felt so bad not being here today that I rescheduled my flight.” 

“We agreed to celebrate tomorrow! I didn’t want you to leave early!” 

“I know, but I wanted to,” Patrick says. He looks down at his hands and smiles. “I missed my husband.” 

“Well,” David says, still on the verge of crying. “Well.” 

“And it is —” Patrick checks his phone — “eleven fifty-seven, so I can still say this for real: Happy Valentine’s Day, David.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Patrick,” he says, smiling into another kiss. Patrick kisses him again and again like he doesn’t want it to end and David wraps his hand around Patrick’s arm, the soft skin and solid muscle that’s as familiar to David as his own body. 

“Can this slightly-over-budget romcom move count as my gift to you this year?” 

David traces the lines of Patrick’s face, the exact curve of his warm eyes and his lovely mouth, and can’t argue. 

“I suppose,” he says, shaking his head. Patrick smiles and kisses his cheek. 

“Kidding. I got you something else.” 

“You’re mean.” 

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Patrick says nonchalantly as he lifts a flat gift box onto the bed. 

“What’s this?” 

“Open it and see.” 

David tugs off the organza ribbon, lifts the lid, and pulls out a black silk collared shirt. 

“Oh my god, is this —” 

“The Not Dead Yet shirt, yeah.” 

“You went shopping for me,” David says happily, holding the shirt up to get a good look at it. When Patrick had first mentioned that the conference was in Vancouver, David had done some research about local designers, just out of curiosity, and had fallen in love with the aesthetic of this shirt. He can’t believe that Patrick was paying such close attention to his rambling, although he really shouldn’t be surprised anymore by how much Patrick loves him. 

“I did. And I am not their target demographic, I’m pretty sure.” 

“You walked into an intimidating high street boutique wearing your lil blue button-up just for me?” 

“I did.” Patrick smiles and kisses him again. “And I brought you something else.” 

“Something else?!” 

Patrick lifts a takeout bag onto the bed and sniffs at it gingerly. 

“Um. I got a creme brulee for us to share, like the year we had tiramisu for dinner, do you remember?” 

“I remember,” David says, smiling, loving him. 

“But, um. This one might be better left as a gesture because I bought it, like, ten hours ago and it has not been refrigerated since.” 

“Ah. Well, it was a nice gesture,” David allows, and kisses him again. 

“Do you need me to shower the plane germs off first or can we have sex now?” Patrick murmurs against his mouth. 

“Mm. Shower, please.” 

Patrick pecks him one last time and gets up like he hadn’t expected any other answer. He starts stripping his clothes, dropping them into the hamper one by one, and David appreciates the slow unwrapping of his body from his vantage point on the bed. 

While he’s in the shower, David checks his phone and sees a text from Stevie, hours ago. 

Stevie  
  
**Yesterday** 10:01 PM Stevie:Why the fuck did your dad send me a valentines bouquet of flowers that’s literally bigger than I am?  
**Today** 12:14 AM David:He sent them to me and Alexis too  
Stevie:Lol I got a whole rant from Alexis about her new bf  
David:Well if he has a problem with our dad caring about his kids then she’s better off without him anyway  
Stevie:Wow you’ve changed your tune  
David:I know  
David:Patrick came home early  
Stevie:Ah, that asshole  
David:He gave me the shirt I was hinting at and some creme brulee   
Stevie:Ugh  
Stevie:What did you get him?  
David:I had Jake make us a bench for the back deck because Patrick likes to watch the sunset  
Stevie:You disgust me  
Stevie:Go have nauseating sex with your husband  
David:Happy Valentine's Day, Stevie  
  


“Hey, David?” Patrick calls from the bathroom. 

“Yeah?” 

“What’s that?” 

David hauls himself out of bed and plods over to look at whatever it is. Patrick’s still wet, the towel wrapped around his waist, and David rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder to see what he’s looking at out the little window that overlooks the backyard. 

“Oh, that. That’s your gift.” 

“What is it?” Patrick asks faintly. David absently rubs circles on Patrick’s bare chest. 

“It’s a bench that I commissioned from Jake. It’s facing west exactly according to the app on my phone and the armrests are wide enough for a cup of coffee or glass of wine, although I do not claim blanket responsibility for glass cleanup.” 

“David, you….” 

“I did.” 

“I love you so much,” Patrick says in a rush, turning to kiss him. 

“I love you, love you, love you,” he murmurs against his mouth, his lovely tender mouth that moves so easily with knowing David. 

He tugs off Patrick’s towel and hangs it up before taking Patrick’s face in his hands to keep kissing him as Patrick’s hands grope at his waist, backing him up into the bedroom and onto their bed. 

They kiss desperately and surge against each other, their bodies remembering each other, craving each other, finally together. 

Patrick glows, his hair golden in the lamplight, until he reaches over and clicks it off, plunging them both into secret close darkness, the two of them kissing _love love love_ onto each other’s skin. 

**Author's Note:**

> 💕Happy Valentine's Day!💕
> 
> You can find me at [middyblue](https://middyblue.tumblr.com) on tumblr and reblog a link to this [here](https://middyblue.tumblr.com/post/643114942617272320/valentines-day-is-for-lovers-davidpatrick-6259).


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